


Ablaze

by PacketofRedApples



Category: Alan Wake (Video Game)
Genre: A bit slashy, Violence, accidental self-mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3752788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PacketofRedApples/pseuds/PacketofRedApples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Scratch decides to have some fun with poor ol' Alan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not to be misunderstood-- I love Alan deeply, but I am a sadist. I apologize in advance.  
> It's up to you what happens afterwards because unfortunately, I chickened out of writing it.  
> I hope to hell there's no typos I accidentally missed....

Exhaustion slowed him down, numbed him to his surroundings for just one second. One god damn second, he could swear on that! But it was enough to regret it. Having heard the herald taunting him, he should have known better… yet he stumbled and the sudden pang to the side of his head came seemingly out of nowhere. He remembers that, but as he awakes with his head pounding, dried blood tickling his temple, he swears to god he wishes he didn’t as this riled more frustration in him than a man in his psychical state right now could manage.

  
Most of his body burned. He attempts to move his hands and legs just to see how tight his restrains were-- the movement worsened the situation as the ropes dug into his wrist more now. Breathing made his ribs hurt, making him suspecting a break. Clearly, Scratch never knew fair play and kicking a man while he was down and unconscious didn’t slip past him.

  
Alan curses himself, how could he have been so stupid, so pathetic to allow himself to not be on his toes for even one second.  
Alan looks around from the corner he was laying in, recognizing the motel room.

  
“For a minute I thought you slipped into a coma.” Scratch says when he walks out of the adjoining room, sounding much like a bored teenager. He has a bottle of whiskey and seemingly has had it for a while now.

  
He strolls over the other’s body, admiring the feeble state.

Mr. Scratch laughed, before swigging a large gulp from the whiskey bottle, but then it seems a bright idea hits him and you could almost see the light bulb above his head light up…then again, perhaps it would’ve shattered. He looks at the bottle now, as if admiring, having seen it for the first time.

  
“How rude of me not to offer you a drink… Don’t worry, buddy, I’ve got you.” he says, pouring a large portion of the liquid onto Alan’s face, who shuts his eyes as hard as he can to avoid the liquid getting in but his eyes still burn making him squirm and groan even more, unable to move his head out of the way entirely. When he finally manages to turn on his side, the writer gasp for air, spitting out whatever got in. The sudden shift of position weighed down his rib, causing even more pain.

  
“Go to hell…” Wake says in way of some sort of rebellion. Scratch only laughs at that, finishing the drink. Alan sighs, laying his head against the carpet. “You’re barely a god damn human, let alone an adequate copy of me. That’s probably the reason you’re still here… Stalking Alice, ha, right… You’re all bark and no bite.”

  
“Screw you.” The herald throws the bottle against the wall nearest Alan, crashing there but not completely destroyed. Several shards lay there and come dangerously close to cutting Alan as the double kicks him back onto his back. As if to make the statement even more valid, he straddled the writer, letting his whole self press his “godly image” (the very forsaken man he was based on) down and squeeze onto several bruises on his lower body. Scratch grabbed the other’s face, gripping it with his hand and pulling it harshly. “I should’ve tapped your goddamn mouth shut.”

  
“Didn’t think that through, huh?” Alan tries to spite him even more, perhaps in lack of better judgment. It seems to get to the better of the double and he grinds his teeth, eyes obviously seeing red, but the herald only covers the writer’s mouth, pressing hard enough to pain his head against the floor, seemingly trying to crush it. The other hand finds its place to his neck, squeezing lightly.

  
Something stops him then, calming him instantly. Making him somewhat serene looking now…

  
To Wake’s surprise, the doppelganger leaned in, resting his mouth against the back of his hand. Several blinks later he moves up and kisses Alan’s forehead then blood stained temple, then cheek, hand moving from his neck and finding way to the writer’s hair where he leans in, taking in the scent.

  
The train of actions could have almost made Wake throw up, feeling bile rising in his throat already. Alan squirmed. Infuriation sparking deep within him, the sudden feel of Scratch’s holds weakening getting him to bite just to get him the hell off. It succeeds as the herald jerks back.

  
“God damn!”

Alan glares and spits at the double. Scratch freezes, whipping the saliva off his face with no emotion what so ever and glances at his hand. It seems all his irritation with the action sums up then and he grabs Alan by his shirt collar and proceeding to punch the writer in the face until his skin gives way to blood. The herald lets go of him then, snarling and muttering “Bitch”.

Scratch stands, resting his foot against the writer’s collar bone. Trying to bruise or even break.

“Fine…” the light flicker momentarily, before it goes out entirely but to Alan the sadist’s smile was as visible as it could be. “I suppose if you’re so excited we can skip the foreplay.” he then kicks the writer in the head, straight to the freshly bloodied face, hard enough to make him turn over, straight onto several shards (yet not cutting him anywhere severe, only breaking skin). This makes Scratch chuckle. Shadows creep closer to the prisoner. Alan sweats, trying to move his rigid body burning in more pain now.

“We’re going to have so much fun.” Scratch positively beams at the writer


	2. Chapter 2

Being touched by the dark presence wasn’t to be expected to be a good feeling ever, but the sense of wrongness that Alan feels when he awakes is even worse than the last he could remember. Previously he had lost an entire week but now he’s sure it’s only been several hours. Atop of the questionable feeling of violation lays the pounding headache, making Alan squint his already closed eyes and feel close to tearing up at how his body screamed with pain all over. But secondly discomfort came from his skin that was burning up, with the exception of his hands that were numbing by the second. 

The writer doesn’t dare to open his eyes, out of fear of paining his them or perhaps facing the reality of what was happening. Yet he attempts to clear his throat, aware this may attract attention to him. It was a small hope to make it feel less dry, but instead it gave a ripping feeling. 

“You really need to stop passing out, Wake. It isn’t as much fun when you can’t see what I’m doing to you.” Alan hears the sick parody of his voice, the mattress squeak, footsteps getting closer. However, takes it upon himself to remain still. Alas, the herald is not of the same intelligence of a wild animal despite his behavior and doesn’t buy into this. He kneels, picks Alan’s head up by his hair (the visible discomfort on the writer’s face is there). “Come on, Wake! We’re blessed with such beautiful eyes… Surely you’re not going to hide them from me!” 

This, of course, does nothing. Scratch groans then changes his grip from the other’s hair to his shirt. 

“I suppose it can’t be helped.” The herald snarls. “Alice is right; you really are a stubborn bastard. I should know that better than the rest.” A sigh there. “I’ll keep in mind to tell her this when I see her... you know, that I know you best.” 

It pisses Alan off, but he can’t find much energy to fight back the doppelgangers comments. And besides, seconds later he is being dragged across the floor. He must’ve passed several shards, the sharp pain into his arms and back as he definitely is cut, using the remains of his vigor to force back whines. Feels blood trickle and it does rile up anger in him that he wishes he could use to something.

The champion feels the cheap carpet change into cool tiles on which he is dropped. It’s a small fall, but it shocks his entire body nonetheless. The writer chokes for a second, then senses the herald’s hands wrap around his torso as he is lifted and thrown into a tub. This causes a bigger sting onto his arms that are already aching, the weight of his body pressing too much onto them. A shimmy there doesn’t help much besides moving his legs into a better position, keeping out of the small bath. 

He is confused as to why his double brought him into this place. Listening to his slight shuffling as if to clue himself in, but without providing much answer he attempts to open his eyes. With great strain they open only slightly. Timing awfully off, however as Mr. Scratch starts the shower head at full force, says “I’m sure this’ll help you wake up, buddy.” and leaves the room. 

Alan screws up his eyes before his mouth falls agape as he tries to gasp for air, and move out of the way of the stream that is growing hotter and hotter. He somehow jumps up, using his legs for leverage to stand up. This doesn’t help much as he loses his balance quick enough and hits the wall soon before he collapses onto the ground. The writer hacks a couple more times before he opens his eyes. Swears quietly. 

The fog from the water rises, filling the room. At the very least, the writer relishes being away from the herald now. 

Breathes deeply in attempts to ease the pain.

To Alan’s utmost surprise he notices a straight razor placed on the edge of the bath. He perks up then, some livelihood restored by a seeming sign of luck. He thrust closer, trying to steady himself somehow to get it, but it takes several more lunges before he’s against the bath again. Alan uses his chin to throw it onto the floor then skips so he could reach it. 

Several moments to grab it and unfold it, but then that’s the easy part. It’s when he tries to cut the rope that it gets worse. 

It’s a struggle to place it against the rope, but even trying to cut it... well, he barely manages it. Every few cuts into the rope he somehow manages to slit himself. Flesh burns, seeping with his own blood. Eventually he manages to loosen the rope enough to take it off. 

He reaches a towel there and wraps it around the bleeding skin. Alan doesn’t actually anticipate getting real bandages any time soon. 

He takes the razor again and begins cutting at the ropes at his feet, despite how weak his hands are now. His vision blurs but he continues. It all forces a sweat out of him. He’s not even half way done when he needs to stop and pant. It’s getting somewhat spotty in his eyes, head spinning but after another huff he goes at it again. 

He’s so close to being done when he passes out… it’s really a shame. 

This time when he regains consciousness he is laying on the bed, side against the cheap cushion that supposedly has to be regarded as a mattress and feeling the springs press back seems to be a testament to it. He is not tied up anymore however he does notice the bandaged wrist, coming as a surprise to the writer. 

Alan’s slight confused motions seem to cause amusement for the other figure in the room who chuckles lightly at them. The writer turns to face the direction of the sound.  
Mr. Scratch is sitting on one of the old chairs, lounging back on it somewhat, holding a glass of something or another. Alan has a sickly feeling at the thought of having his back turned to the bastard even for a second, like an open invitation to be stabbed. 

Wake then spots the plate with a pathetic meal and a glass of water sitting there right by a jug on the bedside table. The glass seeming more appealing than the food. The writer’s eyes run between it and the herald sitting further back. Oddly, he has a non-vicious smile on his face that unsettles Alan more than anything else. 

He worries about it, but still drinks it all down. The champion of light slumps against the bed then, panting. His vitality was at its limits. The consistent struggle to outrun the dark, to save Alice and Barry and return to them had already gotten him running on empty. This unpleasant run in with his double only took away what little he had left and positioned his body in even more agony than just one of strain.

Scratch stands then, taking the large jug and pouring another glass before taking his spot back on the chair and continuing to sip from his glass. 

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Alan manages. Scratch laughs, finding really quite humorous to him and he doesn’t drop the smile.

“Just making sure my best friend is fine. You know those sentimental little things and all.” 

“Friend?” Alan’s tone is accusatory, filled with utter disbelief. Not only a friend, but best friend. “You’re getting delusional.” 

Scratch hums, the smile dropping as he fakes a thoughtful expression. 

“Honestly, I figured I was already delusional. “ He pauses, cocks his head sideways at Alan. “You know, I used to get really lonely. “ Alan doesn’t know that the herald isn’t bluffing now or maybe he knows but just doesn’t want to admit to it. The first several weeks he spent faced with Scratch were so strange; it’s like a 180 degree turn from what he is now. At least Alan thinks so. 

“I really missed palling around with you, Wake. Actually, I’d still go to say you are my favorite person.” He makes a sound after that, similar to a tch but with more amusement. “Besides, I’d be an upgrade from Barry.” Another laugh. Alan rolls his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure a best friend’s isn’t supposed to attempt to kill the other…” 

“Kill you? Oh, no no no… Come on, Alan, how could we have fun if you’re dead? I’d never do anything to hurt you, you should know that.” Scratch fakes sincerity then. His words seem to intend to highlight the champion’s wounds, primarily the ones that are self-inflicted. And alright, Alan was always aware that Scratch wouldn’t kill him. At least not now… It would be counterproductive, but breaking him is very helpful. This enables him to have his fun to the writer’s misfortune. 

Scratch finishes his drink.

“Now, I think I have to check up on Alice, if you won’t mind.” He stands there, straightens up his suit and makes sure his hair is neatly slicked back. The whole train of actions causing Alan disgust. The herald flashes him a smile then, pats him lightly on the shoulder and leaves. 

It’s a moment of defeat and humiliation for the champion of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's an addition to the fic... yikes! I was terrified it might not be what people would want... But in my defense I am a little shy to write smut not to mention something that would be non-con. Anyways, I hope this is satisfactory to others and not just me.  
> 


End file.
